Only one answer
by kaktusic
Summary: Things passing through Diego's mind between failing to catch that gazelle and the moment Manny approached him. I don't own any of the guys.


He should have seen it coming.

In fact, if he should be completely honest with himself, he _had_ seen it coming. He'd just…chosen to ignore it.

Until now.

He dragged his paws on the dusty ground, slowly making his way back to where his companions currently resided. As he walked, very few of the by-passing animals shied away, as they would normally shy away from any other big carnivore. _And why would they_, he cringed inwardly under their cold, scrutinizing stares. They didn't flinch away, but their eyes were cold and wary, telling him that they saw him for what he was, for what he was supposed to be, for what he was _made_ to be, and not for what he currently pretended to be; pretended for the sake of his friends, and _not_ for those staring, ungrateful, unintelligent walking buffet. _Well, something is better than nothing, _he thought, almost smiling at the badly disguised fear in their eyes. Almost.

There had been a pact between Diego the sabertooth tiger and the rest of the Valley population- a pact established by Manfred the mammoth, a pact accepted by the tiger, as grudgingly as it had been, and embraced with open paws by other Valley residents- that the largest predator around, namely Diego, would not hunt down other animals populating the Valley. His nourishment needs were to be solved out in other places, not in their Valley, not when world seemed to be crumbling down around them, and unity - consisting, among other things, of different species overcoming their differences and working together - might be one thing to enhance their chances of survival.

There was a small exception to the rule, exception considering old and sick animals with no chances, and desire, of living much longer. Some of them- though not all- came to Diego by themselves. Instead of crawling away to some hidey-hole to simply die, they would come to him, though never in front of Manny, Sid or the others. They would stumble out on his path, with murky eyes, reeking of death even while they still breathed, or they whispered his name after him, calling him, hoping that his claws and monstrous teeth would offer them quicker and more painless departure then the slow decay there were otherwise doomed to.

Diego had been true to his word. No young, healthy animal died on his account in the Valley.

But the promise Manny had extracted from him made his existence quite difficult considering Diego's snacking habits. There were only so much dying animals around, and only a little more corpses he could scavenge upon.

How he hated it, both of it. There was no honor in those, no bravery; it was against everything he was taught to be as a young, proud hunter of a sabertooth pride. It was a way of feeding for old, weak and sick. It was worse than a hunting practice for cubs.

But he gave his word. To Manny. And Sid. He wouldn't back away from it. Already he had betrayed trust he'd been given once. He wasn't keen about repeating it ever again. It felt more rotten in his throat than the carrions he was stooped to feed upon.

Of course, he could hunt outside the Valley. But a single tiger wasn't likely to catch a big prey. Sabertooth tigers were creatures of a pack; a successful hunt was a matter of a strategy and team work. Alone, one tiger could only hunt down smaller prey- or, again, sick and old ones. Which was what Diego had been doing- obviously, for too long.

There were tigers which were strong and skilled enough to catch a larger prey, like an antelope, alone. Once, Diego had been that kind of a tiger. Soto hadn't made him a second-in-command because of Diego's charming personality. Once, Diego had been forceful, powerful hunter, feared even by his fellow packmates, let alone the prey.

But these times of scavenging and having prey animals getting under his skin deteriorated his skills dramatically. Hunting down that bloody antelope wouldn't be easy for any tiger, but it wasn't an impossible task. Old Diego would have done it, he wouldn't be mocked by his prey, wheezing with exhaustion and humiliation, forced to dig the ground for rodents to feed himself once he'd regained his breath. Tigers weren't much of runners, but old Diego would have run that distance out of fun, he would have that antelope killed and would have brought it to his pack, where he would be awed and respected for his strength and stamina.

But that was old Diego. This new Diego was currently dragging himself like an old cat, though he had much longer to live to see the old age, and didn't speak with his friends about his hunts, successful or not, or about his hunger. And they didn't ask. If they scented blood or death on him from time to time, they kept silent. Even Sid was considerate enough to keep his mouth shut. It was an unspoken part of the pact, and Diego was grateful for it. He didn't know if he could take the looks of unease or outright disgust- and, worse, fear- on his friends' faces if he'd told them all the gory details. What was once his greatest pride, he was now supposed to accept to be his shame…

…only, he didn't feel it as shame. He couldn't. He simply wasn't made for it. And he did not _want_ to. The only shame he currently felt was the one considering his pitful failure at bringing prey down.

Manny called out for him. Something about a surprise. But Diego couldn't bring himself to even look at his friend's eyes. Not when he was lost in his own misery, and couldn't count on his friends to understand him, even if he'd been willing to share it with them. Which he hadn't.

He'd been told many times that friends shared secrets and comforted each other, but this particular secret, this gaping, empty void inside him, he didn't dare to share with any of them. He knew too well he'd meet only blank stares, with disgust lurking underneath. Besides, it was too bloody embarrassing.

Could he truly call them his friends, then? Could it be true friendship, if he had to hide from them that he was falling apart, in body and soul; could it be enough for friendship that he loved them enough to be ready to die for each and every of them, even if he would never say that out loud; loved them enough to rather abandon them now, while it was time, before it was too late, before they see him in his true nature, before they see him _killing_, before he gets to see the revulsion on their faces and he's _asked_ to leave?

And when Diego glimpsed Ellie's rounded form, and remembered how his pack once disemboweled a pregnant mammoth female, and imagined Manny's and Ellie's expressions if he told them that happy hunting story, and remembered vividly the taste of mammoth's flesh in his mouth, he knew there could be only one answer to that.


End file.
